All In the Vanity
by His Little LabRat
Summary: First part of short horrors. Rated M for Pleser. THEORY-based work; not "spoilers."


**WARNING**.

This is a HORROR related fiction relevant to Ples.** It does _NOT_ contain "SPOILERS**." The things relative to the so-called "Ples spoilers" are **theories** and have been around for a **long time**.

If you still feel that they truly are "spoilers" then do not read if you do not want to. Note that if you flame for this reason then you will be reported without hesitation.

* * *

The days were long and still, nearly tedious. Waking up to a new day was the same as the last, or so it felt to him. Nonetheless, he still got up each day. And, albeit the feeling of monotony, he went through each day of work without so much as an audible complaint. Getting home each day from his job was almost a complete relief of pressure, although the tedium didn't really seem to cease.

Driving home he was reminded of this, especially as he looked into the rear-view mirror and adjusted it just enough so that he could see that uncannily similar face sitting in his backseat, quiet and waiting as usual with that smile that just spilled the 'welcome home' vibe he was so familiar to. Just like everyday, he drove home with that smirk looking at him from the backseat.

As he got out, there was no one in the backseat, but as he opened the door, there that face was again, standing in wait for him in every reflection of every clock on the wall, walking along just like he was. And for a little while, he was alone again, without himself - nothing to see himself in - and he was completely alone aside the rhythmic ticking that emanated from both himself and the clocks of the hall and the gentle click that came as he turned the stove on to heat the teapot that rested atop it, a simple ritual that sprung about from his childhood when his mother would make him afternoon tea everyday when he would come home from school that he brought back around when he returned home from work.

Outside his home, the moon had set, and steadily, his reflection uplifted in the windows in his kitchen and every living room, reflecting what the light hit and filtered back. It just smiled back at him, even though he was not smiling. It mirrored his every move, as it always did, but with that grin that it always held on his face. His _own_ face, terrorized and taken over by someone not nearly himself. Years of the same monotony, that same smiling face that was his own and yet so _not_ his own, all in a twisted way that was too perplexing to ponder, and, as always, the same as all those years, he let it slide. How many years had it been now since the beginning? He couldn't remember.

He sat down with his teacup, and his reflection did as well. He watched his reflection without so much as a twitch of a smile, and his smiling reflection watched him right on as they both sipped tea. With every sip, his tension seemed to wilt and wane, although a new feeling was instituted into him, a familiar paranoia about himself that filled up every cell of his being in the most imperceptible way. But this was the same as every night, and, like every night, he would let it dwindle again, knowing the same dreariness would ensue as usual.

Steadily, he pushed his seat back and he stood up, wandering over to the sink with his teacup to wash it out. His mirrored image followed.

"_Do you know what tonight is?_"

Slowly, he looked up, the water rushing over his fingers and over the cup, turning slowly back around to his reflection. His self-manifestation in each of the windows looked back at him as well, and he wasn't sure which reflection in the windows to look at. When he blinked, his reflection seemed to flash something different, then it returned to him, in smirking form of course. He turned back around and continued washing the dish, as well as the plate and small spoon.

"_Tonight's the night._"

He clenched his teeth and the dishes rattled as he set them down gently on the granite countertops. He swallowed steadily and clapped his hands together after he cut the water that poured from the faucet. He turned back around and gazed into his reflection's eyes. They were so his, yet so not. It was terrifying and familiar. He merely smiles back at himself.

He pushes himself to look away from his own - no, not _his_ own hypnotic gaze, the thought coursing through his head about tonight, about the broken monotony. As he passed the clocks in the hall, he didn't dare gaze at their faces, afraid they would reflect his own. He turned at once and stepped up the stairs, moving into his bedroom. With a sigh, keeping his eyes away from the mirrored armoire and vanity set on the edges of the room, as well as the door to his walk-in closet, he shuffled to his bed slowly, trying to keep focused and his eyes forward on his bed as he began to unbutton his vest. He was sure he was in the mirrors, doing exactly what he was doing with that intimidating smirk of his that he couldn't possibly fathom to be on his own, _real_ face.

"_Ples_?"

He slipped his arms through the armholes of his vest, folding it neatly and placing it down tenderly on the edge of the bed.

"_Ples._"

He didn't dare look up, even as he began to work the top buttons, not to take his shirt off, but merely to loosen the shirt enough to let him cool down. He plucked at the collar gently - he was beginning to feel incredibly warm suddenly.

"Ples!"

He jumped this time, his hand flying over his chest. The voice - _his_ voice - was different. It was frightening and he whirled around, finally looking at himself in the mirror.

"_You know what tonight _is_, don't you?"_

His reflection was smirking, teeth showing and his teeth, his own teeth were menacing, sharp and jagged, something like a vampire's set would be. He shivered at the thought and gulped down anxiety, staring incredulously at himself. No, not himself. This was…

"_Come nearer, Ples,_" _he_ said.

He could only continue to stare, half-leaned over his bed, a sudden chill running up his spine as he remained motionless.

"Come here!"

He flinched back at the voice and slowly, shakily, pushed himself up from his bed, walking slowly up to the vanity where he could see himself reflected, his head hung like a child who was scolded by his mother, although his 'mother' in this case was himself in the mirror, who stood tall and terrifying. Before he completely reached the vanity, his reflection already had and stood there, directly in front of the vanity set's mirrored self. He tried to seem just as intimidating, as if he wasn't scared of himself, although worry and fear clawed at his insides, the uniformity no longer there to comfort him. The face in the mirror was no longer his own with that smirk as it was before; no, it _exactly_ like his face, yet so, so _not_. His mind boggled over the thought and then dodged off - he knew he needed to focus on what was happening - but he could not help but to simply ask that all-consuming question, the one to which he knew there would never be an answer: _why?_

"_Ples, my darling - I don't want you to leave me,_" he explained to himself from the mirror. He actually stood quite far away from the mirror on the vanity, trying not to fidget with that bête noire he was now again feeling accustomed with. "_Please_," his mirror-form began, reaching a hand out to him that seemed, merely by illusion Ples supposed, to literally reach out to him, reach _through_ the mirror; real and completely formed like his own arms that lay down at his sides. "_I promise I won't hurt you_." For a moment, he could feel his hand twitch out towards his mirror's hand, and it felt like his eyes were going to roll back into his head as he nearly did reach out, until he clenched his fist, keeping control of himself and opening his eyes wide to focus behind their glasses, pulling his fist back down to his side. And though he kept composed, so did himself in the mirror, still with its hand reached out and that bloody fucking blasted smirk on its lips - _his own lips_, like they had betrayed him, and that was exactly how he felt - betrayed. By himself. How could he?

He stepped up to the mirror.

His reflection retracted the hand and for a moment they stood the same again aside their stance of expression - smirking and grimacing. Then his reflection laughed and he tried to stand taller, acting like that hadn't surprised him, although his insides were quaking with fear at how his mirror's snickers fell out of his lips, what were supposed to normally be his _own_ lips.

"_Ples, I know you're in there somewhere._" But his reflection wasn't talking to him, it was talking to itself really, beckoning itself forward to honestly show on Ples himself, not just in the mirror. "_Come here,_" it cooed and Ples felt his neck twitch, but he took it back, trying to hold control, trying to seem strong, although he felt feeble and needy of protection from something, _anything_. "_Talk to me, my dear; sit here - pull up a chair_," his reflection said as it sat down in the vanity chair, and Ples felt his legs twitch, causing him to shuffle his feet as he tried to remain standing, fighting back.

Though he tried, he next found himself facing himself in the mirror, arse planted down in the same seat as his reflection. "_There we are_," it sang, lacing its hands together and placing them up on the edges of the vanity, leaning forward and resting his chin on them, that smirk leaning closer to him than he wanted it to. Ples clenched his fists, resisting this small action as well, with success for once. "_Now is that not more comfortable than standing_?" His mirrored self asked, cocking its head slightly with that smirk that made his stomach rise and fall with the feeling of sickness. Then, himself in the mirror perked up again, staring directly at him. "_Oh? Is something the matter, Ples?_"

He was sure that it - being himself - would have already know naturally, but he told it anyway. Rather, asked. "Why is it you're doing this?"

His stomach clenched as his mirrored self sat up again with a laugh that echoed throughout his head. "_You already know that._" Ples glared at his reflection, who was taken back a bit at first, then leaned forward like a snake in the grass, just looming over its prey who already knew their doom was coming. "_Don't give me that look - I'm here to rebuild you._"

"B-but I already killed you." Damn his stutter - it was slipping out with his anxiety. He felt his composure collapsing.

"_But, Ples! We were _meant _for each other_," his reflection pleaded, his eyes wide and crazy as he shot out of his seat, leaning forward, nearly seeming to pop through the mirror and, as if he was real, he could smell rotting meat on his breath. Surely that's not what _his_ breath smelled like. "Aside that fact alone, you already know that all these years I was playing possum! Remember, I let you watch _him_ blossom?" Ples flinched, his hands balling into fists once more on his lap and he could feel his arms shaking. "How I let you watch him grow up and become so empowered like he has? Would you not agree, _my darling_?" Its voice was low, a growl at first, but at the end again picked up back into that 'gentle' voice that was his own with a slightly more fierce background. And there was that laugh, and just the fact that it was about the boy he cared so for made his blood curdle in rage alone, made him grit his teeth and press his fingernails into his palms. He could just feel as his mirror smirked like a gambler who held all the right cards. "_I gave you enough time. You're _mine."

Ples jumped, arms and legs shaking with disquiet. "W-wait, y-you can't; not just yet, I-"

"If _I_ can't have you, then no one can."

He swallowed thickly, looking up slowly to his reflection, whose expression was nothing past staid. "I-I… you can't…"

His reflection laughed, cockily and loudly, and leaned forward, making Ples rear his head back slightly, intimidated. "_I can and I _will," it growled and he pushed back in his seat more, his mirrored image crawling forward and he suddenly fell back out of freight as its hand reached through the mirror and gripped the edge of the vanity suddenly, causing him to yelp as he fell back with the chair and onto the floor. He grunted and kicked the chair back, which hit the vanity and erupted a maniacal laugh from himself, who was clawing his way out of the mirror.

Ples shuffled back, kicking at his image that just crawled out of the mirror, but kicking the vanity once again instead, which shook his mirror self onto the floor with a grunt. It lay there a moment, then, like something out of a horror movie, immediately picked up its head again and began to crawl towards him slowly. Ples shook, that question burning in his brain repeatedly as the laughter began and he tried to scoot away, finding himself unable though. He could hardly move, completely frightened by that laugh and the way it clawed its way toward him with that _hideous_ smirk. And then he was on himself and he flinched away, the stench of bourbon and rotted meat on his other's breath which was now heaving heatedly over his face as he tried to hold his breath and turn away from himself. Though his chin was then tugged and he stared into cold, deeply grey eyes that were his own, but with a darker side than his own could ever hold and he wondered in that instant how he could possibly be the other, although that was torn from his mind as the breath hit him again and he clenched his eyes tightly shut.

"_Ples, look at me._" A little pause and the hand - the _real_ hand on his chin clenched tightly and he grunted. "Look at me." Ples opened his eyes, trying to struggle although his hands were, as if by a magical force, pinned at his sides as his so very, very _real_ self, on top of him, straddled his waist, one hand to his chest and the other gripped his chin enough to nearly bruise. He felt crushed. Trapped.

"_Well at least you're still alive. And _I'm _still alive; you couldn't kill me, even if you tried to! Just like you did once_," it said, its breath rank and its fingers suddenly feeling so much sharper, its eyes looking so much more menacing than before. "_You remember that night you tampered with yourself so much - you nearly killed _yourself _more than you did me!_"That laugh - that _damn_ laugh. "_This is what you wanted your whole life, is it not? This is what you desired for so long, _nearly twenty _years now? I can only say, look at these place, look at _yourself. _But did you not know that this had a price too? That you're just now seeing the downside too_?" He felt his eyes sting and go bloodshot with the burning feeling, his throat clenching and beginning to hiccup faintly. "_You come home from work and can't even sleep without help of medicine and dull words attached to pages. You'll keep self-medicating on alcohol in fear forever, won't you? Think of the alcoholics - you'll start a rehab cycle! But together _- together_, Ples, we can _break that cycle."

Ples couldn't bear to look, he tried shaking his head, and, finally, the tears began to spill from his eyes, slow and steady.

"Ples!"

"Wh-what?"

"_I own you. I own your mind_ _and soul_," it murmured, its hand running through his hair quickly, but gently in a way of its own rough accord, making its way further down. "_And your heart_," it added, whispers so hot and mimicked faces so close, one hand tracing circles on the other's chest, where his heart should have been, but from which a faint ticking emanated instead of heartbeats. Then the hand continued further down; down his chest, down his stomach, past his naval…

"_And your body_."

Ples let out a rough gasp, facing flushing out as his back arched up against himself, hips colliding roughly and minds spun-off and waning control, opening and vulnerable.

"No one is going to love you like I do."


End file.
